The Contract is Binding

This is not your basic feel-good story. I'm sorry for that. There's no sex here. It's just a bummer of a tale about a sad man with too much conscience who is seeking relief from grief.

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I suppose if I'm to spill my guts, I should start at the beginning. My name is not important, or maybe I should say it is all-important and the one thing you can never know. You see, I was supposed to kill a man. Oh, he deserved it, or at least I was told he did. I'll never really know for sure. I never met the man. I never even spoke to him. I was told to just do whatever it took, walk up behind him one night in a parking lot and shoot him in the back of the head if that's what it took. I couldn't. I tried. I really did. I just couldn't do it.

So why am I hiding my identity now? I didn't commit the crime. What do I have to fear? It's simple. There are others I must protect. I made a deal with the devil and the devil will always have his due. I used to think that my life was hell. Funny that. I was just biding my time in hell's waiting room. This is the real hell. I tried to solve my problems with a shortcut, and in the end I traded one nightmare for another.

You see, I was married to, well; maybe I'd best leave her name out of it too. I don't want this getting back to the wrong people. Let's just call her "the bitch". That's what I call her. Men are so stupid. Some tramp comes along and spreads her legs, then the next thing they know they're down on one knee offering her their heart and thinking they're the luckiest guy in the world. That's what I thought. Trust me, I wasn't. My heart was the one thing that did not interest her. She wanted everything else. She kept me well fucked and happy, pushed out two kids, and then that two-way loving relationship became a one-sided and demanding endurance contest to see just how much I could withstand before I broke! She went out with her friends at night and came home late, then later, then not at all until the sun was up. She put a pot of stew in the fridge, and that kept me and the kids fed for the week while she was going out and about. I started cooking proper meals just so the kids could eat better. If I tried to talk about it, she shut me down with "I'm entitled to a little fun once in a while! You're away all day. You don't know what it's like. It's just a little fun. I have nothing to apologize for!" The sex that got me into this situation dried up and I was having a love affair with Rosy Palm and her five sisters. On top of all that, her spending got out of control.

That's what the bitch did to me. Then one night I came home from work and she had dinner on the table. She outdid herself cooking my favorite meal. After dinner, she said "Darling, we need to talk." She sat next to me on the couch and tried to sound loving and reassuring. Her life was boring. She needed a little excitement. He would be no threat to me. I was still her number one. She still loved only me. It would be just a little excitement while I'm away at work...

Hell, no! I put my foot down, so the loving discussion escalated into threats. "I'm doing it and there is nothing you can do about it. If you want a divorce, I'll take everything you have and everything you will ever have. You'll lose the kids. The courts always give custody to the mother. I'll get the house and you'll pay for it. I'll get alimony and child support. So don't be stupid. Just go along with it. Besides, you've been happy the past two years, so it won't be any different. You just know now."

I took the first opportunity I had to sit with a divorce lawyer and he basically confirmed everything. It was a no-fault state. Even if I got evidence of her adultery, it wouldn't matter much. She would get the kids and I would pay for her to raise them. I could embarrass her with her friends and family, but her friends were no better than she and god only knows what her family was really like. I thought I knew them, but I thought I knew her. I couldn't let her raise the kids by herself. She was toxic. She treated the kids no better than she treated me and if left on her own she would poison those lovely, gentle souls and ruin their lives forever. I couldn't let that happen.

My back was against the wall and I thought it couldn't get any worse. I was wrong. I came home from work about a week later and I found her entertaining her fuck buddy in our bed. He was younger than me and bigger in every way. If I charged him, he would just beat me to a pulp and finish screwing my wife. "Oh, get out, would you? Wait downstairs. I'll be along soon enough!"

Bitch! No, that will not do! It will not do at all! The bitch has to pay.

She informed me that I needed to get used to it. The motel bills were too expensive and completely unnecessary. She was going to fuck him in my home and that was that.

No, she wasn't. She damn well was not.

Who was I kidding? Anything I did to stop them would either land me in jail or the hospital. Both paths led to divorce and that meant poverty.

I packed a bag and left, fine lot of good that did me. I stewed for a few days and got nowhere. I finally called a friend (I'll call him Jack) who had been married to a horrible woman. Then one day his wife just up and left. A year later he got an uncontested divorce. I figured if anyone could help me, he could.

We met for a beer in a quiet bar and this is what he told me: "What I tell you stays between us. Do you understand me? You never tell a living soul. Tell me that you understand."

"I understand."

"Swear."

"I swear."

"My wife didn't just disappear. I made her disappear."

It took a minute for that to sink in. "Are you telling me you killed her?"

"No. I had her killed."

He was serious. Whether he did it or he had it done, I was sitting with a man who had murdered his wife. I couldn't help myself; I admired this man!

"How?"

"Are you sure you want to know. Once you know, once you take that first big step, you're committed. It's a contract and you can't get out. Once you commit, you must see it through."

"I have nothing to lose."

"Are you sure? People say that until they realize how much they really do have to lose, then they find they can't get out. You have to see it through."

"Tell me about it."

"You meet one time, face to face. That's it. Nothing is ever written down, but there is a contract and if you break it you pay the penalty."

"How does it work?"

"You put an advertisement in the personals of the L.A. Times that reads `Sad man seeking relief from grief.' Then you leave a P.O. Box where you can be reached."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. Someone will approach you one day. Maybe it's by your car. Maybe it's in a coffee shop. There is nothing planned. It just happens. He says `Are you...?' You say `Yes.' He says `Are you looking for relief from your grief?' You say `Yes.' Then he invites you to take a walk with him. You strike a contract, or you say `No.'"

"What's the contract?"

"Your wife will be killed. Either she will die, or she will disappear. It will look like an accident."

I thought for a time. I truly hated the bitch. "How do I pay for it?"

"That part's easy. Payment is a little money and your soul."

"Are you telling me I make a deal with the devil? Come on. Don't fuck with me. I'm in serious pain and you're playing me."

"He's not the devil, but he might as well be. You'll be told to buy some antique or a painting or a boat or whatever. You'll pay way too much for it. The antique will be a reproduction, the painting a forgery, the boat leaks, whatever. If anyone asks, you were hoodwinked."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"I'm not finished. These people are professionals, but they are more like accountants than killers. You pay them and your wife disappears, but then about a year later they come to you for the other half of your debt. They have a cheating wife or an abusive husband that needs to die. That's when the second installment of your debt comes due."

"What are you saying?"

"They tell you who needs to die, and you kill them. That's how you get your wife killed: someone who hired them before is paying the second half of their debt."

I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. An eternity... That's what we're really talking about here. I do this and my life is changed forever. My soul is marked for all eternity. I get my freedom from evil only if I embrace the ultimate evil.

"I need to think about this."

"Yes, you do. Understand me. This is a contract and you don't get to change your mind. If you change your mind, you are a liability and they do not accept liabilities. You must complete the contract. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now I've told you everything and we will never speak of this again. The next time you see me, you smile, buy me a beer, and we talk about the game. I never need to know what you decide. Don't ever tell me. If anything ever happens to her, I'll just assume it's a happy coincidence. Don't ask me anything else ever again. Do it, or don't do it. We never talk about this again."

I thought for a time, took a sip of my beer, and said "Who do you think is going to win the series this year?" And that was that about that, except for one thing. As my friend walked away, I noticed the missing finger on his left hand. I remember when it happened. He said he lost it to the lawn mower blade about a year after his wife disappeared. If I wasn't sober before that, I was then.

I went home the next day and interrupted the bitch with her fuck buddy. She yelled at me. He smirked. I tasered his ass. That shut her up! I dragged his naked body by his heals down the stairs to the front door, then down the cement steps and onto the front yard with his head bouncing on every step as we went. I felt pretty good, but it didn't last.

He pressed assault charges and the bitch testified against me. I did 90 days in the county lockup. When I got out, I was served with divorce papers and it all went down pretty much as she predicted. I wound up living in a one-room efficiency apartment while I paid the mortgage on a three-bedroom home along with child support and alimony. I was kept away from my kids because I was deemed "violent" and "dangerous".

So, there I was. The bitch had kept her promise. She took it all. Worst of all, I loved my kids and I was deathly afraid of how they would grow up under her example. For their sake, I had to act.

I took out an advertisement in the L.A. Times, "Sad man seeking relief from grief" and I left a P.O. Box where I could be reached.

Time passed and nothing happened. Then, one day as I ate my lunch in the park a man walked up behind me. He said `Are you...?' I said `Yes.' He said `Are you looking for relief from grief?' I said `Yes.' Then he invited me to take a walk with him.

"Are you a cop?"

He says "No."

I say, "Don't you want to ask me the same thing?"

He says "No. We've done our homework. We know who you are and what your problem is."

"Do you want to know who told me how to contact you?"

"No. We think we know. Either way, it doesn't matter."

"Is he in trouble?"

"No. Word of mouth is how our business operates. Just remember, the wrong word to the wrong person creates a problem and the solution to our problem is severe. If you make a mess, you clean it up."

I had a strong feeling I should believe him.

"How does this work?"

"In about a month an antique tea table will come up for bid at the auction house downtown. It's a poor reproduction, but you will fall in love with it. You won't be the only one who wants it. You bid, the bidding climbs, but you win the bid at twenty thousand dollars. You are a happy man and you take your new tea table home."

"That's it?"

"You were told there are two installments?"

"Yes."

"You keep your P.O. Box. In about a year you'll get an envelope. You are expected to complete the contract."

"If I don't?"

"All contracts must be completed. If not, we must make good on the commitment ourselves and that means tying up loose ends. Anyone who fails to complete their contract is a loose end."

"Can I be assured the second installment deserves their fate?"

"We don't take contracts for convenience, or profit, or simple revenge. Our founders wanted to make the world a better place and we maintain that standard. However, make no mistake; you won't be given a choice. You say `Yes' or `No" now, and the contract is made. You can still say `No' now and you will never see me or my associates again. If you make the contract, you will complete the contract."

"Exactly how do I make the contract?"

"You buy the table. That's all."

"It's my ex-wife. She is truly evil, and god only knows what she's doing to my kids."

"Yes, we know. Like I said, we do our homework."

I just nodded and sat there stunned by what I'd done. When I finally looked up, the man was gone. I was alone.

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The auction was still two weeks away when I got a call from my kids. They were in my son's room and both he and my daughter were on the call. "Mommy has a strange man in her bedroom, and we're scared. He's mean! He told Cindy that he can't wait for her to grow up. What does he mean, daddy?"

I was livid. I wanted to kill the bitch and anyone with her. I told them to lock their bedroom door and then I called my brother. I couldn't go over there or I'd get arrested, but he could. He went, knocked on the door until the bitch finally answered it. She was pissed. Who cares? My brother tried to play it cool, asked if the kids were there, and offered to take them for the night. She told him to fuck off. He never saw or heard the guy, so he couldn't testify that anyone other than the bitch and my kids were there. I wanted to call Child Services, but I couldn't prove anything. Plus, I was deemed "dangerous", so would they even listen to me?

My kids called two more times after that. My brother and my sister went to the house. The bitch threatened to call the cops if they didn't leave. They never saw or heard anything they could testify to in court.

A man under that kind of pressure makes bad decisions. I bought the table. God help me, but I bought the damn table and from that moment on my fate was sealed.

Six weeks later, after getting numerous calls from my kids, I had a knock on my front door. Two uniformed cops were standing there. I opened the door, thinking the bitch has called them, and they say, "Are you..." I say "Yes." They say, "Can you account for your activities for the past six hours?" I say, "I was at work until almost six, then went to the food store for a few things, and I've been sitting here since. Why are you asking?" They say, "Can anyone verify you were here?" I say, "My brother called about 90 minutes ago, and we talked. You can check with him. What is this all about?" They say, "It's your ex-wife. Someone broke into her house tonight. We regret to inform you that she is dead."

I was stunned. I motioned for them to come in and I sat down on the couch. For a time, I forgot they were there. I just sat there, thinking about that discussion months before, looking at that damn table, and I broke down and cried. That's right, I cried. They weren't tears of joy. I didn't laugh and I didn't celebrate. She was an evil bitch, but I felt a weight on my shoulders the likes of which I have never felt before.

"What about my kids? Are they alright?"

"Yes, sir. Apparently, they were upstairs doing their homework and never knew what was happening. Your daughter came downstairs and found her mother. She's pretty shaken up."

"I've got to go to her." Then I remembered the protection order. "You have to help me. I beat up my ex-wife's boyfriend when she brought him into our home. It was back before we were divorced. She got a protection order as part of the divorce settlement and I'm not allowed near my kids. You have to help me."

"Your brother and sister are with them now."

"You've spoken with my brother?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, you knew I was here tonight, but you still had to bust my chops. Is that it?"

"It's our job, sir."

"Fuck you! Get out!" I was enraged. Even I knew you don't hit a cop, but not hitting them took everything I had in me. They couldn't start by telling me my kids were safe?

I called my brother and he picked up on the second ring. "Get your ass over here. You really think we're going to enforce that protection order? Your kids are asking for you."

That was all I needed. I was in the car and driving like a maniac. I got to my brother's place in record time. My kids were shaken up, but they were okay. It was in some ways the worst and the best night of my life.

We went to a lawyer and he filed the papers. Child Services interviewed my kids and the judge lifted the protection order. I had my kids back!

I cleaned up the house and we moved back. I tore up the carpets, painted the walls, and did everything I could to make it a different house than the one where my wife was killed. I tried to erase the memories from my children's minds. I got them therapy. My brother and sister wanted me to go, and for a time I did, but I could never tell the therapist what was really bothering me. What bothered me was the calendar. Week by week, month by month, I knew what was coming.

Week after week I went to the P.O. Box and checked my mail. Week after week the box was empty. I started telling myself they'd forgotten me, but I knew better. About a year after my wife's death there was a large manila envelope in my box with no return address. I took it to the car, opened it, and read my assignment. It said that he beat his first wife and had a fondness for children. His second wife had two, a boy and a girl. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. I don't know. They knew exactly what to tell me. His routine habits were all documented. There were pictures. It told me where he worked, where he drank, even what he drank, and the roads he drove to and from work. It even told me his girlfriend's name and where she worked. On top of everything else, he was a cheater. Last, there were even some suggestions about how to get it done. It was your basic "How To Kill A Man" manual. They thought of everything. They gave me a month to get it done.

I studied it. I planned. I tried to run him down one night when he was coming out of the bar, but I swerved at the last moment. I thought about buying a gun, but I couldn't do it. I lay awake at night looking for a solution to my problem, but there was none. I just didn't have it in me. I couldn't kill a man I didn't know. With that revelation my fate was sealed. These people who held my contract were people you could not disappoint.

I knew I had only one choice. I made an appointment to see a lawyer and I wrote out a will. "In the event of my death... I want my children to go with my brother and his wife. They are good people who have always wanted children. They will raise them right."

About two months after I got the package I read in the paper where a man had been found in an alley, beaten, robbed, and killed. It was brutal. Someone worked out their anger on him. I recognized the name and I knew what was coming.

I worried about my kids and put double locks on the windows and doors. I knew I couldn't hide for long, so I did the only thing I could do for my kids: I started eating my lunch in the park. I figured I couldn't stop them, but I could control where it happened.

Epilogue:

So that was my friend's story or most of it anyway. I guess it falls to me to finish his sad little tale. You see, I'm "Jack". It was a Tuesday about a month after that guy got killed in the alley. I walked up to my friend as he ate his lunch alone in the park and I sat down beside him. "I heard your wife died." I said.

"Yeah."

"Good. The kids are better off."

"Yeah." He didn't even look at me.